Coffee, coffee and even more love
by planet p
Summary: Jane and Michael are having their first baby, but there's something up with the computers at the hospital and Michael can't find Jane. Jane/Michael


**Coffee, coffee and even more love** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Sundays at Tiffany's_ or any of its characters.

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**I know it's bad, but I just kinda wanted to write something. If you've written something about this book, too, it'd be cool if you could let me know.**

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He was strung out on far too much coffee. Life _was_ hectic. It wasn't some movie or television show, it wasn't a magazine shoot, it was real – and hurried, always hurried. It was always getting more hurried, every day the hurry (for what, to where) got more hurried. Sometimes, Michael wondered what all that was about: What was all the hurrying for, point in fact?

Sometimes, it got so hurried that it seemed like all it was ever really doing was turning itself in circles; like somehow it was all being orchestrated by some kid on the other side of the screen with a game controller… or something. He'd had too much coffee, too much caffeine; it showed in his thoughts. They were all over the place, he was pacing… literally, all over the place. At first, he'd wonder towards the coffee machine – Not such a crash hot idea, Mikey – then he'd head to the chairs, but find he was too… too jumpy to sit. He needed to be with Jane,

Jane made it all better, all… real. She always had. She slowed it down, she made it mean something.

He needed Jane.

But first he needed to attendant behind the desk to tell him where to go to find Jane and, apparently, the computers where having some sort of glitch, and he was getting impatient.

He needed Jane – he needed to be with Jane – and Jane needed _him_, too. She was having a baby – in fact, she was having _his_ baby! _They_ were having a _baby_! He needed to be with Jane, right now!

He tried to calm himself down, to take it easy; what was going on with those computers anyway! It didn't work. He left the waiting area; he'd just have to find the place himself.

At the end of the corridor, he walked back to the waiting area – very briskly, hoping the attendant would have something. Which, thanks heavens, they did: A room number.

He ran.

He didn't stop.

And then, there was Jane, asking what had taken him so long.

He laughed; she laughed, too. Then the laughing stopped, she had a strained, pained look. He held onto her hand; it hurt. He didn't say so, he didn't let go.

Jane made it all better, even now, when she was squeezing his hand so hard, it was okay, it was Jane, she loved him, that was all.

That was _all_!

And then the baby came, and he realised something.

Now he didn't just love Jane. He loved the baby, too. He loved the baby and Jane, Jane and the baby.

Agatha.

Agatha was the baby's name.

Jane and Agatha. Jane and Agatha and Michael.

They were a family; he loved their family.

_Well_, he thought, _life can be hectic, sure, but this is what makes it all worth it: Moments like this._

He smiled at Jane and caught her smiling back at him and thought with a massive amount of strength, _I love you._ He didn't know whether he'd managed anything telepathic, but he swore, by the look in her eye, that she'd thought just the same thing back.

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you back," Jane told him, but it a funny sort of way – she'd just had a _baby_, why not? Then she said, "Let's have another?" and smiled.

He smiled back. Jane's smile was infectious. "Definitely."

"When I get out of this hospital bed…"

He laughed, mock backing away, "Ah, yes, I think that may be…"

She laughed with him.

He reached out for her hand; she reached for his, too.

He guessed they were both thinking the same thing, at that moment: This was the hospital where Jane's mother, Vivienne, had died.

"She would be proud of you both," he said, "I'm sure," and squeezed his Jane's hand more tightly.

Jane laughed, tears in her eyes. She was sure, too.

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you smile," he said.

She smiled.

He laughed. "Yes, you do. You're gorgeous. She's going to be fine; Agatha will be fine."

Jane nodded; she believed him.

He learnt down to kiss her, but, of course, she was already asleep; he planted a kiss on her forehead and settled down on the bed beside her, just for a few minutes. "You were wonderful, Jane," he whispered quietly. "You're always wonderful. And I know you're going to be a wonderful mother, no worries. You don't have to worry – I believe in you. It's not self-absorbed to believe in yourself, too. It's healthy. I know you've always been worried about things like that, but you're wonderful and perfect, Jane, you really are. And I love you. I just wanted you to know that. Sleep well, my love. Sleep sound."

And then he left her, to sleep.

He looked in the window to the nursery, and there was Agatha, sleeping soundly, just like her mother. _I love you, Agatha_, he thought. _Mommy and Daddy love you very much._ Quietly, very quietly, he hummed her a lullaby.

Yes, he did love Jane and Agatha very much. He could never lose them, he thought, not ever. He loved them too much.

When Jane woke up, he would be waiting with hugs and quiet words and whatever else she wanted. He'd wanted to stay with her, in her hospital room, but he knew that wasn't allowed. _I'm with you in my heart_, he thought, and he really was.

And when he lay down to sleep, they were asleep together, in his dream. Maybe, just possibly, she was dreaming the same thing. He could swear that the hand holding his in his dream felt way too real, way too warm, just like Jane's hand, in fact – he could swear Jane was really with him.

He smiled.

Life was hectic, he'd had altogether too much coffee, but he had no trouble sleeping with Jane holding his hand, and the promise of seeing his new baby and her mommy again in the morning.

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**Thanks for reading, everyone who… um, read! :-)**


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